by Tess Byrnes
It was Priscilla’s plan to stay in the background, keep to her role of governess, and enjoy the party as an observer. She kept her ear tuned to the announcement of names as arrivals were ushered into the ballroom. Mrs. Hartfield was in her element, introducing her lovely daughter, and watching her rooms fill with the cream of the county society.
Glancing over to see how the daughter in question was adapting to the role of hostess, Priscilla noticed Lucy gesticulating at her in what she apparently thought was a discrete way, but which looked for all the world as if she were chasing away a bee. Priscilla looked a question at Lucy, who pointed through her flat palm to the gentleman now paused in the doorway. Unable to see him, Priscilla gave a faint shrug and shook her head to indicate incomprehension. Lucy turned with a brilliant smile and held out one gloved hand to the newcomer. He turned, and as the light fell on his face, Priscilla felt the color drain from her own. There, upright and very much awake, but looking as devastatingly handsome as he had fast asleep, was the gentleman from the lane.
“Lord Jasper Hillaire,” the footman intoned formally.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lord Hillaire entered the brightly lit ballroom with a feeling of only mild trepidation. He had been the object of many a matchmaking Mama, and had vast experience at sidestepping their not so subtle hints. But Mrs. Hartfield was an old, not to say ancient, friend of his Mama’s, and Jasper knew that his mother, in close-knit union with Mrs. Hartfield, considered Miss Lucy, for all her youth, an eminently suitable match for him. Her family was good ton, and she came with a large portion. Jasper has successfully avoided all engagements in the neighborhood by seeking solitude at his hunting box, but an unlucky fate had put his horse’s hoof into a rabbit hole, himself in bed for two days, and his Mama hotfoot to his bedside. He had finally convinced her that a slight concussion was not going to cause his demise, and therefore the demise of the house of Hillaire, but this did not abate her fervent arguments that he should waste no time in marrying and securing an heir.
“For I won’t be put in the Dower house by that odious mushroom!” his fiery Mama had stated adamantly.
“You are too severe, ma’am,” Jasper had said, smothering a laugh at this less than flattering description of his cousin and heir, Egremont. “And as much as I appreciate your concern for my longevity, if such this is, I am in no hurry to thrust myself into parson’s mousetrap.”
“Then stay off of that uncontrollable stallion of yours, stay out of the hunting field, or get yourself into a ballroom full of eligible young ladies!” his mama had ordered with her usual asperity.
As Lord Hillaire trod up the main stair to the ballroom at Hartfield Manor, he could barely suppress a smile at what he imagined the look on his Mama’s face would be if she could see him at this moment. His faultless evening dress, cut in a severe style, fitted a figure that was a testament to his athletic ability. Broad shoulders narrowed to slim hips, his powerful legs cased in silk knee breeches. His dark unruly curls were neatly brushed. A lingering bruise discolored the side of his chin, lending him an even more dashing air. He little realized that he looked exactly as his Mama might wish, a romantic figure ready to sweep an unwary maiden off her feet. A gleam of wry amusement lit his eyes as he passed through the formal receiving line.
His companion, a handsome fair-haired youth a few years younger than his Lordship, looked over with an answering gleam. Julian Davenport shared his cousin’s dislike of matchmaking mamas. He was nursing a very bruised heart. After dangling faithfully after the season’s most elusive beauty, he had been chagrined when she had bestowed her hand upon an older, titled suitor. He had sworn off of the fairer sex, fickle and careless creatures that they were. He had only been persuaded to attend the Hartfield ball because his mother was as forceful as her sister, Jasper’s mother. Like his older cousin, Julian appeared to advantage in formal attire. He was not quite as tall as his cousin, but he had the same share of the family’s good looks. He was fair, where Jasper was dark, but he had the same straight nose, strong chin and piercing blue eyes. But his eyes usually held an irrepressible twinkle, at odds with his declaration of heart break.
“Jasper, look at that lovely girl,” he exclaimed as his eyes landed on Lucy.
“I thought you were never going to notice another woman again as long as you lived,” Jasper smiled, cuffing his younger cousin affectionately.
“Forgot,” Julian admitted ruefully. “Dash it, it’s hard to remember a broken heart when there are such lovely girls present. Besides, I seem to recall that you were here to escape the London parties yourself. Why did you agree to attend?”
“Have you met my mother?” Jasper lifted an eyebrow at his cousin.
“’Nough said, old man,” Julian laughed as they continued their progress towards the receiving line.
“Yes,” Jasper thought ruefully, “Mama would be shocked to find me quite so biddable.” The wicked smile deepened, bringing out a seldom seen dimple in his left cheek as he raised Lucy’s gloved hand to his lips, receiving the captivated smile she bestowed on him. He turned to the ballroom, and his eyes scanned the room for acquaintances, stopping abruptly as they lit upon the stunned countenance of Priscilla.
Lord Hillaire was accustomed to flustered ladies, awestruck maidens, and lovelorn misses. Stunned horror, however, was not an expression he usually inspired. He observed the pale beauty with a questioning look. He raised his quizzing glass. She was young, and extremely beautiful, a vision in pink gauze, covered for reasons that he couldn’t imagine with a plain shawl. Her face was framed by a halo of dusky curls escaping their confining ribbon, her eyes were cornflower blue, and on her face was a look of total dismay. He watched, fascinated, as she recollected herself, a pink tinge surging into her cheeks, before she turned and hurried from the room.
Intrigued, Jasper started to descend the stairs in pursuit, when his arm was caught and held in a surprisingly strong grasp by Mrs. Hartfield. He turned to see who it was who held him, and his eyes widened a little as he took in the imposing purple head dress atop Mrs. Hartfield’s coiffure. His fascinated gaze followed the tall plumes nodding lazily from her towering turban, to her gown of lavender was a cunning confection of tucks and darts, laden with ruffled ribbons of a darker purple. Purple gloves covered her arms, bound by heavy bracelets of amethyst, and a huge matching collar of amethysts twinkled around her neck.
“Lord Hillaire, you honor us with your presence here tonight,” she began grandly.
“Nonsense,” the distracted peer replied a little brusquely, and then repented as he caught the hurt look in her open eyes. “It is I who am honored by your invitation,” he continued smoothly. He saw the frown lift from Mrs. Hartfield’s face. “My mother was devastated at being obliged to stay away, Ma’am, and sends her fond love,” he informed her in a detached voice.
“Dear Lady Hillaire,” the fond matron began, a heartfelt smile transforming her face at the mention of her oldest friend. “I wished her to see my dearest Lucy, whom I’m sure your Lordship was hard pressed even to recognize!” His eyes followed her glance over to the head of the stairs, where Lucy stood talking with a group of three of her childhood friends. Julian was advancing upon her, all thoughts of his broken heart apparently forgotten. Wholly unconscious of the attention bent on her, Lucy appeared to her best advantage, a happy smile on her face as she conversed comfortably with old playmates. Seeing a hint of a smile on Lord Jasper’s face, Mrs. Hartfield was quick to seize on the moment. “I believe the orchestra is tuning up, my lord, and will begin the first dance shortly,” she said suggestively.
“Then I mustn’t keep you from your duties as Hostess, Ma’am,” Lord Hillaire replied with deceptive sweetness. “I look forward to having a long talk with you, Mrs. Hartfield, and passing along all my mother’s many messages.” He smiled mischievously, taking her hand in his strong grasp. “Save a dance for me,” he said with a roguish smile that made Mrs. Hartfield wish she were a girl about to embark on her first season
, and to completely forget her plans to have the elegant Viscount lead Lucy into the first dance.
“Oh, Lord Hillaire, you know I won’t be dancing this evening. The very idea!” she almost tittered.
“Even better,” he replied with a wicked glint. “We’ll have to find a private spot to sit out the dance, then!” He pressed her hand to his lips. Mrs. Hartfield giggled like a schoolgirl; there was no other word for it. He turned and descended the stairs, feeling a little like a scoundrel, his eyes sweeping the room in vain, for the vision in pink had disappeared.
From her vantage point at the head of the stairs Lucy’s sharp eyes had not missed the exchange between the handsome Viscount and her beloved Hawkie. Lucy’s sensitive young heart was sure it recognized love at first sighting when she saw it, and that look on Hawkie’s pale, frozen face had to be it! Lord Hillaire too, Lucy felt, had obviously been struck by the governess’s loveliness. Lucy resolved that, even though it cost her a pang to give up the vision of herself, in a simple yet terribly expensive traveling dress, her had resting on the arm of Lord Hillaire as they boarded his private yacht to leave on their honeymoon trip to France, she would nonetheless do all in her power to bring about the union of true love between Lord Hillaire and Miss Hawksworth. A tender sigh escaped her lips, as, unaware of her mother’s horrified expression, and Julian’s dismayed one, she absentmindedly accepted the hand of marcus appleworth, the neighboring squire’s second son, for the first dance.
Priscilla fled the room, and, reaching the relatively safe haven of the nearly empty card room, paused to catch her breath.
“He can’t possibly recognize me,” she told herself reassuringly, as she tried to get her racing pulse under control. “He was unconscious almost the whole time.” She gave a shaky laugh. “Look at yourself, Priscilla,” she reprimanded herself bracingly. “Running scared from a man who wouldn’t know you from the man in the moon!” smoothing her skirts, she drew a revivifying breath, and turned to reenter the ballroom.
“Pardon me for addressing you without a proper introduction,” a cultured voice sounded near at hand. “I feel almost certain that we have met before, so I’m hoping you will forgive my presumption.”
Priscilla turned slowly, her eyes encountering a dark burgundy striped waistcoat with shiny mother of pearl buttons, and traveling up to a snowy white lace cravat tied with remarkable skill and complexity, and finally came to rest on a strong chin, with an appealing little cleft and the remnants of what must have been a rather bad bruise.
“Allow me to introduce myself, in the absence of our hostess,” he continued in an all too familiar voice that was having an alarming effect upon her ability to breath. “My name is Lord Jasper Hillaire. And you are..?”
Priscilla raised her eyes bravely and met his.
“Blue,” she thought to herself with satisfaction. “Just as I had imagined. But almost green if you see all the little yellow flecks.” She noticed a puzzled smile gathering in his eyes, and realized he was waiting for a reply.
“Priscilla,” she replied quickly, then caught herself. “I mean, Miss hawksworth,” she continued in a more business like tone. “I am the, uh, well, the governess.” She had to suppress a giggle as his brows snapped together at this unexpected revelation.
“Did you say governess, Miss Hawksworth?” he queried disbelievingly. His eyes took in the lovely pink gauze dress, obviously designed for a woman of quality, and he continued in a lazy drawl. “And what have I said to give you the impression that I am a fool, my dear?” A glinting twinkle in his blue green eyes made Priscilla realize that, although he was amused, he was not one to be played with.
“No, truly. I am the governess here. In fact, in that capacity I should remind you that my charge, Miss Lucy, would be pleased, I’m sure, to accept you as a partner in the first dance.” She smiled with self congratulation at remembering to act as chaperon, a smile that brought out the enchanting dimple in her cheek, and gave the gentleman before her no desire to seek out any other partner.
“You cannot have heard the orchestra striking up a few moments ago, Miss Hawksworth. I dare say Miss Lucy is already giving some other gentleman the pleasure of leading her out. May I instead have the honor of this dance with you?” He held out a shapely hand, and with great self control Priscilla refrained from placing her own small hand within it, as she had an almost overwhelming desire to do. As she looked at his hand, she couldn’t banish the memories of just what that hand was capable of. Without volition, a thrumming began in her body, and her breath caught in her throat. She had the same hyper awareness of her body that she had experienced in the cottage. She knew a wild desire to experience those sensations again. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing her senses to come under control.
With a deep breath, she gathered her control and looked up. Her cornflower blue eyes met Jasper’s curious ones hesitantly. Priscilla knew that every minute she spent talking with him was risky. Although he hadn’t been very aware of his surroundings on the night she had rescued him in the lane, he had heard her voice. He had done more than that, in point of fact. She turned away from him, playing for time, and trying to calm her racing pulse. Opening her fan, she waved it slowly in front of her flushed cheeks with a hand that shook slightly. Her face suffusing with color as a sudden memory of that night, and more, that next morning, swept over her. She paused, torn between a desire to flee the room and a completely conflicting desire to stay and find out more about this handsome man.
Seeing her hesitation, Jasper dropped his hand and said in a conversational tone, “I agree, the room is rather warm for dancing. Suppose we just sit this one out. Would it be improper of me to suggest a turn on the terrace?” He smiled appealingly.
Priscilla looked up with a stern face, grasping at this opportunity. “Indeed it would, my lord, as I’m sure you are very aware. Your place is in the ballroom, dancing with Miss Lucy, and mine is, well, it’s certainly not here. Actually I’m not sure what the role of the governess is at a ball. If you must know,” she confided, “I’m rather new to my, uh, employment.”
“You are certainly unlike most of the governesses my sister had,” he informed her with a mischievous wink. “Tall, rabbity women, most of ‘em, with a very good knack of spoiling sport. You on the other hand,” he paused as his glance went from her eyes to her dusky curls, “are definitely not rabbity.” The smile in his eyes made Priscilla feel suddenly breathless and out of her depth.
“But with a good knack of spoiling sport, nonetheless,” she retorted briskly, ignoring the shout of laughter the peer gave at her quick response. “You may sit this dance out, my lord, but I intend to attend to my duties, once I figure out exactly what they are,” she ended on a slightly less confident note.
“Just one more thing,” Lord Hillaire called as she turned and started in the direction of the ballroom. “I have a nagging feeling that we’ve met before. You haven’t always been a governess, my dear. That much is obvious. But we know each other, don’t we?”
“Know each other?” Priscilla quavered, realizing that she should have left the card room as soon as the Viscount had entered it. With a tolerable assumption of ease she gave a nonchalant laugh. “My goodness, I suppose I might have seen you somewhere, or you me. It’s perfectly possible, although I have no memory of any such meeting.” She nodded dismissingly, hoping he would accept her explanation, and willing herself to stop babbling. She turned to leave the ballroom.
“Just a minute,” Lord Hillaire ordered brusquely. “I have the strangest recollection.”
Priscilla felt her face go white, and her heart, already reacting to the Marquis presence, did a little flip flop. “Recollection, my lord,” she repeated shakily. “I have no recollection. And indeed, I must go or I fear for my situation. Mrs. Hartfield requires my services immediately.” and giving him no time to answer, she fled from the room.
Jasper’s blue eyes lingered on the retreating form. “That enchanting girl not only knows me,” he mused con
tentedly, “But she’s evidently afraid that I will remember what and where.” Following her path slowly into the ballroom, Lord Hillaire gave a sudden shout of laughter that caused a nearby group to eye him. “By God I’ll have to thank Mama for forcing me back into a ballroom. I’d no idea there was so much entertainment to be had here.” And catching Mrs. Hartfield’s eye, he spent the rest of the evening fulfilling his duty, allowing himself to be introduced to an eligible girl, dancing twice with miss Lucy, partaking of a substantial midnight supper, and somehow managing to keep his eye on the captivating governess throughout the whole evening.
CHAPTER NINE
Priscilla entered the breakfast parlor much later than usual the next morning, but was nonetheless surprised to find Mrs. Hartfield sitting at the table pouring out a cup of coffee.
“Surprised to see me up and about after last evening, aren’t you Miss Hawksworth?” the matron asked with a canny smile. She wore a more than usually fashionable striped morning dress, with a white lace cap set over her curls. She had obviously taken care over her toilette, Priscilla noted. Priscilla herself had dressed in a simple, yet well cut morning dress of a soft jonquil. Her dusky hair was loose, with only a ribbon holding it back.
“Well, it was a long evening,” Priscilla replied with a twinkling smile. “But I must congratulate you on throwing such a successful party. I almost sent down my own excuses and remained in bed, but I’m glad to have company. I had thought to have to breakfast alone, for, late as it is, I looked in on Miss Lucy, and she is still abed!”
“What!” Mrs. Hartfield’s manor changed abruptly. “Still abed! Oh no, this will not do.” She was obviously much agitated, and reached for the bell pull. “The only reason I am out of bed myself is because I am sure we will receive callers to thank us for last night! Many of our guests are neighbors, and dropping by the morning after a ball may seem odd in London, although an afternoon call would be perfectly common, here in the country, and especially with young gentleman who may have been struck by Lucy’s beauty, because she was in looks last night, even though she took most of the ribbons off that lovely dress, and,” she broke off with a muddled look. “Where was I, my dear?” She looked an appeal at Priscilla.